


Technologic

by Dragonkitty



Category: Unbreakable (2000)
Genre: F/M, Mythology - Freeform, comic books
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:58:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1929291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonkitty/pseuds/Dragonkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world of people, average by nature, a woman steps forth unlike the rest. Joseph Dunn learns that his father is not alone in the mythos that Elijah had so believed, and finds that there are others who have gifts much like his father has. However, every gift has its price, and fifteen years later, Joseph learns that while his intentions are good, becoming involved in a world that is not yours is a dangerous game. David works to help pick up the pieces as they fall, but as things escalate, it becomes clear that this is no longer a simple comic book obsession that once invaded the Dunn's lives: This is real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Shit…” Callie mumbled to herself as she stared at the blaring blue monitor on her computer screen, realizing that the ‘blue screen of death’ had lost its ability to scare her. She had long since relied on a backup hard drive and a backup USB drive whenever she worked, deciding that her company just didn’t like technology enough to upgrade. The IT department knew her by name at this point, Callie joking that they would draw straws when her extension came up on the phones as to who had to go see her. 

Today was no different. She rubbed her head, her dark blonde hair tied back in a light blue band, a few stray pieces by her face. Her eyes, a dark brown color, stared sadly at the computer tower to the left on the monitor, wondering if maybe this time they’d take pity on her and send up one of the newer pieces of equipment. Taking the black phone in her hand, she held it up, dialing ‘4’ on speed dial, listening as the phone rang on the other end.

Tyler drew the short straw today, hearing his relaxed but amused voice on the other line, “Break something else, Cal?” He didn’t even bother asking if she’d tried ‘turning it on and off again’, since the answer didn’t really matter. In his seven years working IT at Windham International he had never met anyone who had required so much tech support. The strange part, he noticed, was that she wasn’t even one of those idiot snobs who would download viruses like it was going out of style. She’d had all sorts of software installed, on her own, and all sorts of tech experience herself from years of needing to fix things. Numerous times in her own two years she’d had her hard drive examined for any violations of use. Each time, it’d come up empty; not even Facebook was in her browser history. She hadn’t even tried it.

“I don’t know, you tell me. I’ve got the ever-present blue screen staring me in the face and a PowerPoint that apparently didn’t want to exist. Joke’s on him, though, I saved him to the USB.” She heard a sigh in the background, knowing Tyler was trying to work a way out of going upstairs. It was almost impossible to fix whatever she had broken, and he knew this from experience. The middle-aged man glanced to the side, spotting the new kid that had been hired a few weeks back, the one who didn’t know any better. Popping up a help ticket on his screen, he spoke again, “I’ll send one of the guys up with a replacement laptop to keep you going while we tinker around. Just don’t break that too.” Callie was about to thank him before the line went dead, staring at the phone, slightly hurt.

She drummed her fingers against her desk, trying to fight the urge to throw the computer against a wall. Technology be damned, she was tired of having to get things fixed. She used a spare hard drive and USB for good reason, which was that while the hard drive had occasionally bit the dust, the USB at least had not. Technology had never really been her friend, though as far as she could tell, there was no reason why. As a kid and teenager Callie had only to assume it was because she was simply clumsy, dropping things or bumping into them. Her parents had stopped letting her use their computer and bought her one for herself, one that Callie had learned early on how to fix, given how often it broke. Cellphones hadn’t been a problem when she’d owned one of those Nokia bricks, but the second she had gone for a nice phone, the trouble had begun.

Walking into the store, she remembered the employee confused, never having seen a malfunction like that on the device she had. The only phone she ever really kept for longer than six months was her current one, encased heavily in an Otterbox case she’d purchased along with insurance for the phone. She’d found that tinkering never got her anywhere, only able to diagnose a problem but rarely could she fix it. Instead, her parents had insisted she follow their passion of music as a hobby, insisting with a name like Calliope she would only be a natural. They hadn’t been wrong; almost any instrument she picked up felt natural, as long as it wasn’t mechanical in any way. But it had bothered her how much she relied on technology and she often wondered if there wasn’t a way to just write everything down. Paper was so much easier.

Glancing around her office, she noticed that no one was really paying her much mind. Being on the research and development team meant that while she did belong on a team, much of what she did was also on her own. The company had requested individuals not ‘fiddle’ with electronics and leave the work to IT, but Callie had become irritated with that rule. She knew well enough how to diagnose the problem, and with a new person coming up, she at least wanted to appear competent. 

Powering down the desktop, she drew the blinds on her office, something she did on occasion anyway when she wanted fewer distractions to focus. Her black heels carried her across the patterned cream carpet, waiting until the computer had powered down. Withdrawing a small screwdriver typically meant for the black glasses resting on her nose, she removed the side of the Dell desktop, peering inside. There was a distinctly burnt smell coming from within, and she immediately could tell that the fan had stopped working. A disgruntled look formed on her face, her freckles bunching up as she glared, “Useless piece of garbage.” 

In her fit of frustration and need to look capable, Callie had not removed the power cord, going so far as to slip off her heels, getting comfortable as she began to fiddle. Holding the screwdriver between her teeth, she reached in to move a few cables out of the way, one hand on the desk and both feet on the carpet. It was a stupid move, in true honesty, and one Calliope had typically not made. Most of her time spent fixing things had been done angrily, shaking the phone until it finally gave up or prodding the computer until it eventually passed on to a different world, or wherever technology went when it died. Grabbing at one of the exposed wires, she felt a sudden and quick jolt, a burst of energy snapping through her body.

The electricity had flooded her all at once, feeling herself remaining completely silent as she fell backwards, her body hitting the floor with a ‘thud’ only heard from below, and one that could have been mistaken for almost anything. Later, she would recall seeing brightness cover her eyes, swearing there had been a sort of flashlight. It was nothing like a near death experience that she could tell, but it certainly felt real enough. The other thing she would note later was that it hadn’t hurt. Sure, it had been jarring, and certainly the fall had not been pleasant, but the electricity traveling through her body had done nothing to harm her. 

It was around then that Evan arrived, rapping at the door several times, a little confused as to why no one had answered. He was a young, average-built man with dark brown hair cut short against his head, dressed in a black polo shirt and khaki pants, holding a laptop under one of his arms. He adjusted it as he waited, knocking a final time before entering, his eyes immediately falling to the woman collapsed on the floor. The laptop fell from his hands, hitting the ground with a muffled ‘thunk’, throwing the door open as he ran towards her. 

The woman in the blue dress was collapsed on the ground, the computer open, Evan immediately realizing what had happened. He turned his head sharply, attention already drawn towards him, “Someone call 911!” A few gasps and murmurs were heard, Evan kneeling by her side, pressing his ear against her warm chest, listening for a heartbeat. He was scared; shaking as he knelt by this stranger’s side, desperate to hear what would give him relief, waiting anxiously. 

But the beats came. Slowly, carefully, as if nothing had happened, he heard her heart beating normally in her chest. Breath came from her lips, parted and relaxed, raising his head and looking down, thinking that she looked as though she’d only taken a nap. Her eyes were closed, though as commotion went on around her, he noticed that her brow was furrowed after a few minutes on the floor, eyelids twitching as she came back to consciousness. 

Evan moved back, giving her space as she woke, slowly adjusting her body upwards, propping herself on her elbows. Things were blurry, but coming into focus as she readjusted, noticing people in her doorway, peering In, looking up and seeing a man kneeling down by her. She knew, very clearly, that what had happened was electrocution. However, as he looked at her, she knew that what happened should have burned her hand or even killed her. Such a shock was not for the faint of heart, and anyone would have remained unconscious, which was why Evan was giving her a confused look. 

For whatever reason, Cal understood that she had to lie, knowing somewhere, deep down, that telling the truth would only get her in trouble. If nothing else, the company would hold her accountable for messing with the computer. So she held her head, her voice coming back to her, “I… I think I fainted.” Evan’s soft grey eyes bore confusion, shaking his head a bit as if to argue her point, wondering if she even knew what happened. Callie could see the look on his face, knowing how many people were looking, laughing nervously as she felt her face flush red, “I forgot lunch today… And breakfast.” Evan kept by her, shaking his head, “I don’t think-“ He was interrupted by a sudden burst into the room, a few paramedics that had been in the building already testing new equipment knelt by her side.

Callie tried to wave them off, laughing as she shook her head, “No, seriously, I’m fine. I just think my blood sugar is low, I forgot to eat today.” Being a woman certainly had advantages in a moment like this, the paramedics nodding, though the taller, bulkier one reaching out and taking her wrist, feeling for a pulse, “That wasn’t too smart, huh?” She wanted to roll her eyes, though she was more concerned with the fact that what had happened was fairly unbelievable. The man she could only assume had come to fix her computer had found her on the floor, unconscious, and he knew. She knew he knew. 

The paramedic looked at her as he withdrew his hand, Calliope sitting up and looking at him, getting herself together to stand, “Pulse is a little high, but that seems normal. Just get a bite to eat or something, OK?” She nodded her head, the other paramedic helping her up, the group that had gathered at her door dispersing. The man who helped her up glanced at Evan who was still standing by, looking concerned, “Hey, can you take her down? Make sure she gets there OK?” What was she, porcelain? A sort of disgruntled look fell over her features, aware that this was being done because they thought she had fainted, still feeling over protected. The man nodded, though, shrugging his shoulders as he glanced back at the dispersing group of people, making his way to grab the laptop he had dropped.

He picked it up, the paramedic passing him, Callie on her feet, smirking slightly, “Ironic.” He glanced at her, cocking an eyebrow, mildly confused,  
“Come again?” She shrugged, leaning back against her desk, glancing over at her desktop and then at his laptop, “I’m the one who usually breaks technology, and you’re the IT guy sent to fix it. I’m guessing the laptop is busted.” He looked at the large, black device, then back at Callie, only aware of her name from what he was told, “Doubtful. They told me to get the durable one we have, meant for off-site trips. The guys said something about you having problems with computers.” Callie laughed, leaning against her desk, standing straight and adjusting the blue, knee-length dress, “Right. That’s what they’re saying.” Evan placed the laptop down on her desk, looking at her again, “So I’m supposed to take you to get something to eat. Because you fainted.” 

His voice was thick with disapproval and distrust, Callie picking up on it immediately, “Look, I just didn’t eat, OK? I don’t need you walking me down there.” She headed for the door, surprised when Evan took her arm, though gently, “Bullshit. That computer was open and you were on the floor, shoes off. You weren’t grounded and I have ten bucks that says you got shocked.” Callie snatched her arm away, realizing now that she really was barefoot, having forgotten in the shuffle. She walked past him and slid on the heels again, “What’s your name?” Her eyes turned towards him and he kept a stiff posture, “Evan. Evan Hall.” She walked back towards him, taking her purse off her desk, “Look, Evan. You can walk me down to the cafeteria and sit with me while I eat, making you look like a Good Samaritan, or you can leave the laptop, take my desktop, and just go.” 

He paused, not expecting that kind of reaction. In fact, he hadn’t expected any of this. They had laughed at him as he left the department, mumbling something about Evan being stuck with her, but he hadn’t understood why. He was beginning to doubt his own beliefs, that he had seen a woman electrocuted by a current that ran through the computer. But that had to be it. Why would she faint so close to an open desktop? Running his fingers through his dark hair, he nodded his head, “Yeah, fine. I’ll take you down.”

The escort down had been silent, Evan occasionally glancing over at the woman by his side to see if he could spot any signs of electrocution, though none were visible. He did see a mark on her left hand, something resembling a scar about an inch and a half long, but that wasn’t from the computer. In turn, Calliope had occasionally glanced over at Evan, mostly sizing him up. He was attractive, and about her age, somewhat non-remarkable but otherwise looked like he took care in his appearance. 

By the time the two got down to the cafeteria, Callie finally spoke up, “You done checking me out, Hall?” He looked almost shocked as they stepped onto the tile floor, her heels clicking, pausing as he walked, “Don’t flatter yourself, Calliope.” She tossed him a look, heading immediately towards the café within, picking out a turkey sandwich and water, something innocuous to sit and eat. Evan was behind her, grabbing a bottle of diet coke, the two paying separately, walking silently to a table towards the back of the large, echoing room. 

It was quieter now, the room bright with light pouring in through the windows, the walls white as well, reflecting and making it brighter. As she sat, Evan sat across, looking at her wearily, “Why are you so concerned about people knowing? You might seriously be hurt.” Callie, who had been about to take a bite of her sandwich, placed it down, looking at him, “That’s just it, Evan. I’m not hurt. I got hit with a shock of electricity through a goddamn computer and I’m fine. You don’t think that’s weird? Not to mention the fact that if the company knew I had been tinkering around, I could lose my job.” She picked up the sandwich again, realizing she had been leaning in, whispering, and straightening up as she took a bite. 

Across the table, Evan was quiet as he contemplated this. Sure, the company would reprimand her for what she’d done, and given her reputation within the department, it was likely she wouldn’t be seen favorably. But why not be concerned? Why not get oneself checked out, just to be safe? He sighed, opening the bottle of soda and taking a drink, leaning back, “Did it at least hurt? I mean, you don’t… that doesn’t happen without some kind of sensation.” He refrained from referring to ‘electrocution’ specifically, Callie shrugging, swallowing her bite before responding, “I mean, I guess. I definitely felt it, and it was definitely uncomfortable, but I don’t know if it hurt. It felt like touching a doorknob in the winter after you’ve been walking on a rug.” 

Evan couldn’t help but laugh a little, smiling at Callie who in turn smiled back, looking down and brushing her hair back. He had wanted to say that in that moment, he had felt a spark, but it would have been far too cheesy. When he recounted it later to Joseph, he’d instead say he felt drawn to her, feeling something else in that moment. 

Taking another sip, he watched as she ate for a moment, “So what kind of name is Calliope anyway?” He smiled as he asked, attempting to disarm her momentarily as she grinned at him, “It’s a Greek muse, supposedly daughter of Zeus. She’s known for her being the muse of Homer’s Odyssey. Dad said he liked her because she’s always holding a pen and paper. Very artsy.” His smile was genuine as she explained her own name origin, nodding his head and leaning forward a bit, “Seems appropriate. Sounds kind of like ‘cantaloupe’ though.” She smirked, cocking an eyebrow, “Yeah, if you’re drunk.” He grinned at her again. She was likable enough, despite all her issues with technology and initial defenses, though he assumed that was mostly due to keeping herself safe. 

Evan had departed from the cafeteria, figuring he had just had a strange encounter though deciding to leave well enough alone. She was a woman out of his league, and even if he had wanted to ask for her number, he doubted that it was something she handed out. He had decided, however, that this was something one didn’t just keep to themselves, but he didn’t know anyone at work well enough to talk to, nor did he really trust them to keep quiet. Instead, he decided he’d talk to Joseph later, the man he’d become close friends with during college. 

The two kept up well enough, having initially met during a class Evan had taken to fulfill his writing requirement his junior year, that being _The History of Comics_. Joseph was a year behind him, and was quite enamored with the class, Evan taking it because it seemed easy and because it would be a simple task. He wound up getting a B, mostly because he’d skipped a few lessons and stayed in the computer lab, a place he felt more at home. When the two had gone their separate ways, they had both wound up moving to Philadelphia, Joseph to be close to his parents and his father whom he adored, and Evan because he loved the city too damn much to move elsewhere. Nowhere else had truly felt like home, and he had no reason to step outside his comfort zone. He never had.

Meanwhile, Callie had gone back to her office, a few individuals who she spoke to regularly stopping by to see if she was OK, having opened the blinds in her window. The desktop still sat, untouched, on her desk. She was almost afraid to move it at this point, opting to sit on the other end of the desk, powering on the laptop. It booted up and connected to the internet without a hiccup, though Callie adjusting to the smaller keyboard and mouse with not much ease and mostly irritation. She immediately saw the list of emails, one from her supervisor, asking if she was OK, some insisting she go home. Maybe it was a good idea. It was three in the afternoon by now, and she felt like leaving wouldn’t be much of a hassle. 

The young woman sighed, slouching a bit in her chair as she made a conscious decision to leave, gathering her things and pretty much dumping them in her purse. She wasn’t a perfectionist, nor was she a workaholic, but she was certainly not excited about leaving mid-project, especially when that meant she had to finish up some at home.

Closing the laptop, she slung her bag over her arm, taking a breath before stepping out of her office and into the main cubicle area, avoiding the eyes that seemed to follow her. She was certain that by tomorrow, no one would remember what had happened and she could carry on as though nothing had occurred. It was nice, then, that she would get to leave and pretend it hadn’t occurred. Maybe she’d have a glass of wine, decompress and play her violin, or perhaps the guitar that had been gathering dust in the corner, begging to be played again as she once had frequently years ago.


	2. A hero discovered

When Evan had called Joseph, telling him the weirdest thing had happened, Joseph initially hadn't been fazed. He’d been in the middle of playing Madden, one of the only ways he could really play sports, and was half paying attention, “Yeah, Joe, she was just bizarre. The whole thing was weird.” Joseph nodded his head, then realized Evan couldn't see him, glancing down at the phone on speaker, “Oh, weird.” There was silence for a moment, Evan able to hear the sounds of the game in the background, “Dude, are you playing Madden while talking to me? Actually, are you playing Madden period?” Joseph groaned audibly, finally pausing the game and picking up the phone, walking into his kitchen, “Jesus, you’re worse than my mother. Listen, just come over and have a beer with me or something. It’s fine.” Evan rubbed his face, thinking for a second and then sighing, “Yeah, sure. Can’t stay late, I have to head in early and grab that chick’s computer before the boss finds out I left without taking it.” 

The commute had been short with traffic having died, Evan finding himself holding one of the cheap beers Joseph had become accustomed to consuming. He forced himself to drink it, never having had an affinity for alcohol, sitting on the couch adjacent to Joseph who had put on Sports Center in the background. Evan looked at the blue bottle, “I found her on the floor, passed out. But I swear to god, man, she got electrocuted. She didn't ever say it out loud, but I know that’s what happened.” He took another long drink, Joseph turning from the television and eyeing the scores idly to looking directly at him.

For a moment, Joseph was reminded of the conversation Elijah had with his father and how skeptical his dad had been. He remembered being told to throw out the water, though shook it off, “Who cares if she got shocked, then? She’s fine, right?” Joe tossed back the last of his beer, standing and walking to the kitchen to grab another from the aging fridge as Evan spoke, “Right, that’s just it. If she got shocked, she should have had a burn mark and she should have fried. She would have stayed unconscious. I mean, Jesus, Joe, she shouldn't even be alive, the thing was connected to the power cord still!” 

That was about the time Joseph sat back down, staring at Evan with a look of puzzlement and concern. At least, that’s how Evan interpreted it. He glanced up at his friend and leaned back, putting the beer down, “Don’t act like I’m an alien, OK? I just thought it was weird. I didn't know who else to tell.” Joseph was leaning forward, his mouth agape as he tried not to stare at Evan, looking back towards the television. He could see the Eagles on TV, practicing, footage of how they were doing being played, but he wasn't actually watching it.

No. There was no way that could actually be the case, not two of them, right? Joseph tried to act more casual, “Well did you see any burns?” Evan, thinking his friend was finally believing him rather than staring with his mouth agape, responded, “No. I mean, she had this gnarly scar on her other hand, but that didn't look like it was from the computer. I guess she breaks a lot of stuff pretty often. The guys were talking about her as the ‘Tech Killer’ or some stupid shit. Probably just thought she could fix it herself.”

What was it Elijah had said, exactly? That comics were a way of telling a story? What if there were more stories than just his father’s? It sounded like she got hurt, and given she was unconscious, he was skeptical. He’d never seen anything like it or heard anything like it in his life, and his father had been the only one he knew. Joe took a drink of the beer and put it down, leaning back on the couch, “That’s pretty weird. Maybe she just lucked out or something. Sounds like she isn't worried.” But Joe was. Joseph Dunn was concerned, and not just because something was eating at Evan, but because he had seen what happened with his father. His entire world had changed and he had discovered who Elijah was, and it had eaten at him. He remembered years later, when he was about fifteen, his father had admitted one night how terrible he felt, seeing all sorts of things that had happened, that he couldn't fix, that he could never stop. It was a matter of finding out what you could control.

Evan stared at the beer, as if there was a message inside to decipher, “Yeah. Maybe. It’s just… she told me she felt it. She said she felt the shock, but it didn't hurt.” Evan had never been a believer in much, never gone to church or avoided black cats and broken mirrors, but this had shaken him. The worst part was that he had no idea why he was so upset about the situation, but that was why he had spoken to Joseph. He had decided that if Joseph could calm him down, the man convinced that everything was possible, he was probably just over-exaggerating it. And indeed, it seemed he was. 

That was when Joe grinned, “She was cute, wasn't she?” Evan smirked over, taking a sip of the beer, “Yeah, definitely my type. Tall, curvy, gorgeous blonde hair.” Joseph laughed as he put the beer on the table, “You’re just harping on this ‘cause she’s hot. Ever thought of just asking her out rather than making up this fantasy about her?” Evan felt himself flush, leaning back with his hands behind his head, “I dunno, dude. I kinda like the idea of her just existing in my head. Can’t say no if I don’t ask, right?” Joe laughed, picking up his beverage and taking a long swig before putting it back down, wiping the condensation off his hands, “Just ask. Tell her you want to just see how she’s doing. I don’t know, make some shit up.” Truthfully, Joseph was curious. He wanted more information but had no way of digging, besides the internet, and Evan seemed eager to get to know her. Joe felt bad for manipulating his friend, but maybe something would come of it.

By the end of the evening, Evan had reluctantly agreed to ask out the young woman by the end of the next day, given it was Thursday. He’d have a perfectly valid excuse for seeing her, which was that he had her computer, after all, though from what he understood there probably wasn't much he could learn about her if he went through it. Even going through her browser history would feel invasive, and the very thought of doing it made him sick. He wanted to get to know her on the basis of who she was, even if who she was, was weird and awkward. Something about what had happened made Evan drawn to her. 

Evan had never really been one to make any kind of ‘moves’ in his time on the planet, mostly just relying on occasionally being introduced to a friend of a friend. It wasn’t that he was unattractive, but mostly he’d found that when someone spent a majority of their life focused on computers, social interactions in reality were sometimes harder. He was happy to stay in and play on his Xbox or his PlayStation, or even tinker around with his PC. Instead, Joseph was doing his civic duty and pushing Evan outside his box. Joe had no idea whether or not it would end well, but he felt a desperate need to know more. Even as Evan left to go back to his apartment, Joseph found himself opening Google, having gotten her name out of Evan. 

He glanced sideways, the clock displaying “11:26” in green, realizing he should get to bed if he was to get to work. He did more hands-on mechanical work and had been called in to start a new project at the car dealership he worked at, helping at headquarters. Regardless, he typed “Calliope McCullough” into the search bar, deciding her name was unique enough he couldn't really go wrong. However, the only things he found were a LinkedIn profile (that looked drastically outdated), and a few articles about her musical talents. She had apparently performed in an orchestra during her high school days, and even into college, but had never pursued it further. There were a few pictures of her, and immediately Joseph noticed the appeal. She wasn't stunning in the way one would imagine, but there was a picture he saw on an article a few years old, with the woman playing the violin, that gave him pause.

There was a sort of beauty to seeing a human doing something they loved, seeing the passion resonating within them that was rarely captured on film. Ignoring the thought, he continued, getting irritated with the fact that there wasn't really anything on her of substance. Hell, she didn't even have a Facebook page. She was truly not a presence online, no outstanding articles stating “one lone survivor” like his own father had. Instead, she was incredibly ordinary, or at least appeared that way. Being invulnerable seemed not to be a thing with her, as the scar on her hand expressed, though maybe there were other things. That was where Evan came in. He couldn't help but feel guilty for manipulating a friend, wondering if maybe all those years around his father had jaded him. It was certainly one of the reasons he drank so heavily, and certainly one of the reasons he had become so pained. The moment as a child when he had been beaten for helping a girl in his class had cemented a piece of himself as truth: he was not special. Joseph was not a unique snowflake, no matter how hard he tried. True, he was proud of his father and felt joy for the work he did, but he also resented it to some degree. He was never a part of it. Never involved. 

Rubbing his eyes, he finished another beer, staring down at the bottle as he felt the grogginess brought on by the alcohol consumption. It was late, and he knew he needed to be awake. Evan would probably have more information in the morning, and he decided if not, he would let it go. The last thing Joe wanted in his life was to become another Elijah, desperately seeking someone on the spectrum, going to lengths that cost others their lives. He shrugged off the thought as he often did with anything painful, flicking off the monitor and making his way to the large bed nearby, collapsing onto it. He haphazardly set an alarm, flicking on the green numbers, sighing a bit as he allowed sleep to take him over.


	3. The limits of life

Evan wasn't sure why he was so nervous; tinkering away at the desktop he had come in early to look at. He had grounded himself and unplugged the equipment, peering inside as he looked through the components. Nothing was obviously out of sorts, as he had attempted to run a diagnostic test, only to have the computer refuse to even turn on at this point. Part of that, he guessed, was that the power supply had been shorted in the electrocution, but something else had been wrong before that. Replacing the supply, he peered in further, moving some items out of the way before spotting the fan. At first, it looked like it was fine, although upon attempting to start it up with a diagnostic run, he found that it wasn't working. 

He fiddled a bit more with the fan, noting to himself that half of what he did was mostly just poke things. A little more adjusting and he noted the fan had burnt out. What was interesting was that the computer had failed due to overheating, but as with many desktops like the one Callie had, there’d be no sign other than the blue screen of death. It would be impossible to tell, unless one actually knew what to look for and what diagnostics to run, what was actually wrong. He shrugged it off, getting the replacement parts together, sitting and removing the fan, replacing it with another. It seemed unnecessary, given they were going to be replacing her research department’s computers with new ones as it stood. He imagined, however, that they would avoid Callie getting new equipment as long as necessary.

By the time he got to her office, people had only begun to file in, Evan using the key assigned to open her door, one he was given after she had left, and one he had to return. Stepping inside, he carted in the desktop and shut the door behind himself, used to the privacy and quiet of working where he did. As he lifted the computer, beginning to plug it back in, he noticed a few pictures on her desk. There was one with her, probably a few years younger, sitting with who he assumed was her mother. The woman had dark eyes and soft blonde hair, cut short, looking almost identical to Calliope were she much older. They were smiling, sitting in a park somewhere, dressed as any normal mother and daughter. By that, he spotted a picture of who he assumed was her father, holding the camera out and taking a picture with herself and a young man, looking a few years younger than Callie, his hair a dirty blonde and shaggy. Brother.

Her father looked grizzled and older in the picture than he had imagined a father looking, light blonde hair, scruff on his face, but smiling none the less. He shrugged it off as he plugged everything back in, turning on the computer and waiting for it to boot up. Leaning back in her chair, he intertwined his fingers behind his head, waiting as the painful process dragged on. The good part was that at least the computer sounded normal. Sure, it was taking forever, but it was turning on and the fan was running. Mindlessly, he found himself looking around the room more. It was fairly empty, the room looking far larger than it was, the beige walls looking bare, though her desk was immaculate. All her papers were sorted, different files in different places, and he was curious about how far that went. Nervously, he looked around, sitting up in his chair and placing his hands on her top drawer. Opening it, he turned and peered inside. It matched the desk itself, again immaculate, even her pencils organized perfectly. 

What caught his eye, however, was a beat-up looking black and white notebook, her name scribbled on the front. Curious, he picked it up, feeling the dog-eared pages, flipping it open. It looked mostly filled, though the page he opened to was covered in writing, flowing cursive that looked as though it must have taken ages, looking like calligraphy… Right. Like her name. The words on this page looked like a poem, and he found himself drawn to reading it, quite taken with even just the style. 

However, before he could fall completely into the words, he heard the door move, immediately closing the book and shoving it into the desk. He stood abruptly, adjusting his t-shirt and smiling nervously as the young woman entered, her hair tied up in a bun, donning only jeans and a black blouse, looking confused, “Were you in my desk?” He laughed a little, shaking his head, “Oh, yeah, I was just looking for a pencil. I was gonna let you know I stopped by and the computer’s fixed.” He motioned to the desktop, feeling his stomach sink as he felt his chances at even asking this woman for coffee dwindle down. 

Her own face looked skeptical as she placed her bag down on an empty chair near the door, removing her black pea coat and hanging it up, “I think seeing the desktop would have been a big sign for me.” She smirked, finding his bashful nature a bit endearing. Nerd-types had always been her favorite, being fairly introverted herself, and she found herself liking this one. Though it was more than that; Evan had been there when she was shocked, and even when discussing how strange it was, he didn't judge and he appeared to not have shared it. 

Evan felt his tense body relax, letting out a bit of a sigh, “Yeah, I guess it would have.” He stared at the ground for a moment, trying to pull forth courage from deep inside himself, “Hey, Calliope, I know we've had a weird start, but I kind of want to change that. What do you think about grabbing a drink after work tonight?” Callie couldn't help but smile widely, feeling her face flush as she nodded, “Yeah, sure. Where were you thinking?” Evan realized he didn't really know any of the bars around, though had seen some folks from the building frequent a place down the road, ‘The Bell Tower’ it was called, he was pretty sure. He remembered the large neon blue sign in the front, figuring it was a safe place, “Bell Tower sound OK? Maybe like, 7? I have some stuff to finish up before I can go home today.” Callie nodded, unconsciously tugging her blouse down a bit, “Do you need my number in case anything comes up?” Evan hid the smile on his face as best he could, “Oh, yeah, absolutely. I’ll give you mine, too.” 

The two removed their phones, exchanging numbers before Evan checked the clock, “I gotta bolt, but I’ll see you tonight?” He held a tone of uncertainty and nervousness, as if asking again to make sure it was happening. Calliope simply smiled, “See you.” She held her hand in a wave as Evan made his way out of the office, feeling like a kid who had finally gotten the urge to ask out the pretty girl in his math class. Callie was smiling too, sitting down and placing the coffee she had been holding onto her desk, eyeing the computer. He had started it up, which meant he had been waiting in her office, and she felt a tug at her, looking inside her desk, checking the notebook she kept at work. 

Callie loved art, that was a given. She felt most at peace and most relaxed when playing an instrument or writing in her journal. Words would flow, and despite all the other mistakes in the world, all the problems she encountered, her certainty lay in the confidence of her abilities. Her talent with words was certainly there, and she had a way of making almost anything sound elegant, but it was truly music that gave her peace. Even her writing was derived from songs, stories she wrote based on pieces she’d heard, or pieces she wrote with the dream of playing them aloud. And so she opened the book, not sure what she was checking for, but knowing that she was making sure it was safe. A part of her wondered if Evan had seen her writing, though if he had, it didn't show. 

Closing the notebook, satisfied, Callie typed in her username and password, feeling more relaxed as she began the process of her day. It began as it always did, checking her emails and going through what she had missed, a few new emails asking how she was. Her friend Caroline, from upstairs in R&D, sent her a picture of Captain America staring at the electrical board from Avengers, the caption reading, “It seems to run on some form of electricity.” Callie laughed out loud, stifling it a bit as she hit reply, sending a picture of Thor smashing his coffee cup captioned “ANOTHER”, and then wrote: This is how I feel about getting my computers back. 

From there, she noticed an email from Michael Windham, one that read “Welcome Back” in the title. Figuring it was an email intended for the company at large, though unsure what it was referring to, she opened it. However, the Google Mail application noted that no, in fact, this was not cc’d to anyone else, nor was it sent to the company at large. Instead, it was an email directed at her personally, one that was written by the CEO of the company she worked for. Nervous, she read down:

 

Ms. McCullough,  
I heard about your unfortunate incident in your office the other day. I must say I’m sorry to hear about what happened, though I’m glad to hear you’re safe and sound. Let me know if there’s anything further I can do to assist. 

Sincerely,  
Michael Windham, CEO Windham Industries

 

Callie was confused as hell, reading the email, though presumed it was probably something HR sent out on his behalf. Windham didn't involve himself in the affairs of the company, especially when Callie was working on something as innocuous as advertising for the new equipment that they were designing for medical companies. Given that some of the men helping test the equipment had come seen her, she grinned and wondered if maybe she was going to be buttered up to speak positively on her behalf.

She opened up the PowerPoint, plugging in her backup hard drive and USB, and pulled up some of the work Caroline had sent her from R&D that she was to change into readable graphs and pieces so that the board felt comfortable in the work being done. More than that, it would cement their partnership with one of the largest medical suppliers on the East Coast. But Callie wasn't the only person breaking down information, as they were indeed a team, and her focus was the applicability of some of the new heart monitoring products. 

But as soon as her work was up in the background, picked up the black phone and dialed ‘2’ on her speed dial button, waiting as it rang. Caroline wasn't always around her computer to answer calls, but it was early enough she hoped the petite Hispanic woman was around to pick it up, maybe checking her emails still. The phone rang once, a gentle but warm “Caroline Leigh, R&D Windham Industries.” Despite the fact that there was caller-id and she’d see it was Callie, it was typically safe practice to answer the phone professionally. There’d be more than one occasion Callie had answered jovially, only to discover it was her boss trying to get through about a simple question. 

“Guess who emailed me this morning.” Caroline sighed in her chair, leaning back as she adjusted the white lab coat she’d thrown on, pushing some of the short, choppy brown hair from her eyes, “I don’t know… Jesus? Did Jesus send you an email?” Her voice was sarcastic and dry, which meant to Callie that the call would be short, as she probably had much to do, “No, asshole. But close. Windham sent me an email telling me he was glad I was OK.” There was silence, and the sound of rummaging through a desk, “He probably sends that to everyone, Cal. It’s probably not even him.” Calliope thought for a moment, feeling almost slightly disappointed that she wasn't being singled out (even if it was because she was an idiot). Shrugging she nodded, “Yeah, guess so. Anyway, you sound like there’s stuff going on. Gimme a text later and we can plan to hang this weekend or something.” There was an acknowledgment on the other line before the two hung up, Callie staring at her screen again.

She pulled up her email once more, having politely responded to most of the well-wishes. But Windham’s stood unreplied to, practically staring her in the face with a threat. Audibly sighing, she opened it again and hit ‘reply’:

 

Dear Mr. Windham,  
Thank you for your concern. I’m quite well and pleased to be back at work this morning. I appreciate your concern, though I’m healthy and happy.   
Thanks again,  
Calliope McCullough

 

There seemed no need to place her title in there, which was something stupid like “Senior Coordinator of R&D Advertising Medical Division” in there. He already knew, and it wasn't worth dotting down there the way “CEO” was. Finally hitting ‘send’ after hovering over the button, she closed her mail and decided to get back to deciphering the work before her, having recently received a few new graphs and statistics she dreaded making into legible words. It wasn't that she didn't understand it, but Callie found that explaining these things to people who didn't have a degree in them was often difficult. She never liked to think of herself as more than average in her intelligence, but she certainly knew what she was doing here. 

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, peering through her glasses at the screen as she tried to lose herself into her work. She often found then when relaxed, processing information was simply easier, which seemed like common sense, but Caroline had always told her being under pressure and stressed got her work done faster. Reaching over to take another sip of her coffee as it got cold (which she preferred), she heard another email come in. A few had ‘dinged’ in her inbox as she was typing, though she’d decided not to check until things had slowed. The same was true now, even as she put the coffee down again, waiting until the clock finally hit a decent time. It helped also to distract her from the fact that she was, for the first time in a while, going on a date with a man who she hadn't picked out from an online profile. 

The idea of meeting up with Evan seemed nice, and he struck her as a good person. In fact, he had been there to help her when she was shocked, and as far as she knew, he hadn't breathed a word. Instead, he fixed her computer and went back to his own work, saving her trouble and explanation. She would probably try and leave work at least a little early, hoping to get ready for tonight, feeling even a bit giddy about it. Cal always had a difficult time meeting new people, and not just because she lived in an age where people texted and Facebooked and Tweeted when all she wanted to do was write music and play the violin. She always felt like she was set apart from others, never regretting her decision to leave behind music, but knowing it was where her passions lay. 

By the time she noticed it was 11:30, which was her usual break for lunch, her cold, stale coffee had been finished and she had mostly completed her work. She had learned to budget her time for the possibility of breaking objects or maneuvering through technology hazards. In general, the woman was punctual and tidy to the point of obsession, but in the end, it gave her time to write music or lyrics down in her book. Extra time meant she could proof her work and then spend a few hours doing what she wanted as everything else had been completed. 

Popping open her email to sort through what she needed and didn't need, she deleted the email chain about some potluck going on at work. A few more were from Care’s team and Care herself regarding the newest numbers, realizing that she would be fairly busy herself given she’d left early yesterday. The final email was one from Michael Windham, one that gave her pause, concerned as she opened it,

 

Ms. McCullough,   
As happy as we are to have you back, I wish you would have considered resting today. After all, that’s what our sick leave is for! However, your return is still appreciated and well-timed. I have a concern I’d like to speak to you about in person, if you wouldn't mind coming upstairs around 1:00pm. No cause for alarm, I assure you, simply something I’d prefer to speak to you about in person.  
Thank you,  
Michael Windham

 

He’d dropped the “CEO” bit, and at this point she couldn't help but wonder if in fact something was actually wrong. Sure, it said not to worry, but didn't all people say that before firing someone. But why would he even fire her personally? Wasn't that a task left for those beneath him? Her heart began to speed up, nervous about the very idea of meeting the CEO of such a large corporation. For one thing, she assumed Mr. Windham was still in London conducting work abroad, given she was going to present to the board in a week, the rumor was that he was out of town until then. The Philadelphia office had never been a high priority, despite how prestigious and nice it was, but that he was asking her up there was strange. 

Her stomach rumbled a bit, distracting her temporarily from the fact that she had received a somewhat disconcerting email. Looking to her left, she spotted her lunch bag, withdrawing a sandwich she had made, taking a seat over by the couch away from the door, opening the blinds on the window, letting the light in. It was cold, winter sun, but it was sun none the less, Calliope looking down from her tenth floor of a fifty-story building. It still felt high, but she could tell there was so much more above her, eyeing the buildings around. 

The city had never been as impressive as one like New York, but one could always feel the history in a place like this. There were old buildings dotting the city, roads that had been paved and fixed up over the years, contrasted with luxury cars, old cars, taxis, buses…It always held a sort of fascination for her when she looked out, which was why she spent her lunch break in her own office. It gave her time to enjoy the city that had both trapped and entranced her, one that she felt constricted by, but couldn't help but love. As she ate her sandwich, she contemplated what might happen later, trying not to perseverate on the issue. She had replied with an affirmative, that she would in fact be there, meaning that her lunch would be quick to compensate for the time she would spend doing… what?

After finishing her meal, she tossed a few wrappers in her trash, noting it had been dumped. One of the things Callie’s mother had instilled in her before she died was that when you moved into a new building or got a new job, two of the most important people you should befriend were maintenance and custodial. Those were the people that would fix your heater ASAP in the middle of winter and clean your office without question. Callie sometimes worked late, and had made friends with Brianne, the woman who came in the evening, often leaving her some food out for her evening shifts. The head of maintenance, Harold, she occasionally just popped down to say hello to at least once a week, listening to him rant about his three kids and his wife. 

Sitting at her chair, she tried to lose herself in her work again, but kept finding herself glancing down at the clock on the computer. Punctual as ever, Calliope rose from her chair at about 12:45, making her way to the elevator, wishing she’d dressed a little better today. Today would have been the day to wear the blue dress. Instead, she could only hope her blouse and jeans would go unnoticed compared to the typically formal attire. She could claim casual Friday, couldn't she? That sounded about right.

She waited for the elevator that came without issue, stepping on with a few others and feeling immediately under dressed again. Deciding to let it go, as there was nothing she could do about it, she hit the button for the fiftieth floor, a few looks tossed her way from people aware of where she was going. She was the last person on when the elevator made the soft ‘ping’, the awkward elevator music dissipating as she exited, her flats carrying her to the reception desk. A woman, who looked to be in her late twenties, dressed rather elegantly, sat with her red hair tied up in a neat and formal bun. Straightening her blouse, she smiled at the woman who looked up with a genuine smile, “I’m here to see Mr. Windham? I’m Calliope McCullough.” Without speaking, the woman typed a few things onto the sleek desktop that Callie envied, her own dinosaur-era computer appearing more than outdated compared to this. 

After a few moments, the woman looked back up, Callie feeling nervous, “Please take a seat and we’ll have his PA bring you to his office in a moment.” The waiting area looked sterile, reminding Callie of her own office as she sat in one of the black, comfortable chairs. The walls were white, windows open out to the city, letting in the light. A few black chairs dotted the waiting area, and she could see down a long hallway, offices lining them along with a few side hallways as well. She imagined this was the floor reserved for those who truly mattered in the company, a floor that Callie would never reside on, though she was content with this. The people here had more responsibility than she wanted, and that was quite fine with her. 

She realized she’d been staring off and examining the office when a young man stood before her, donning a suit and Bluetooth earpiece, his dark hair combed back, “Please come with me, Ms. McCullough.” His smile wasn't sincere the way the receptionist’s had been, and she returned with a nervous smile of her own, standing and following. The place was quite large, as she had figured, looking almost like a maze as the man walked her wordlessly through, offices with doors open and men and women behind desks, talking on the phone. Their offices were enormous, dwarfing her own, and she assumed each also had their own respective PA.   
Pausing at the office at the end of the hall, one she noticed, that did not have a large pane of glass in front, the man knocked on the wooden door, opening it while he did. Callie wondered why he’d even knocked at all, startled from her thoughts as she heard a deepened British voice, “Thank you, Henry.” She looked ahead, noticing first and foremost that the far wall was almost entirely windows. The sun emptied into the room that was not nearly as sterile as the waiting area, rather the office was warm and inviting. Paintings hung the walls, a few large bookshelves filled to the brim against the walls, two large chairs in front of an oak desk. There was a man behind it, the one who had spoken, with his hands folded behind himself, facing Calliope. She had always imagined that someone like Windham would be found staring off thoughtfully into the distance, though he instead was standing with a smile. She was stricken with how handsome he was, and how young he was, considering. He couldn't have been more than 40, and to have established such a prestigious company meant he was bright. His hair, a very light brown color with what must have been a wave to it, was gelled back thoughtfully. His lean figure was in a suit she imagined was tailored for him, though lacking a tie, a sort of soft smile on his lips, facial features more defined and elegant. He was startling.

The door behind her shut, startled for a moment as she stepped forward, “Ms. McCullough, please take a seat.” Callie made her way towards the comfortable looking chairs, sitting down as Windham did as well, “Oh, you can call me Calliope, Mr. Windham. That’s fine.” He grinned, a certain charm to it as he did so,  
“Tit for tat then. Please call me Michael.” He sat across from her, his back straight as he folded his hands on his desk, a bit messy but nothing outrageous, “Calliope… the Greek muse, yes? Daughter of Zeus? Beautiful name.” Callie couldn't help but feel a flush cross over her cheeks, mostly because she’d never had anyone know that was the origin. People sometimes recognized it, but no one ever knew it, “Yeah. Parents were kind of hoping the name would dictate the daughter.” She sat straight as well, keeping her hands in her lap as she watched Michael smile, nodding, “Well, from what I understand, they weren't entirely wrong. I've read your file a bit, Calliope, and it appears you have a knack for music, am I correct?” 

She cocked an eyebrow, confused suddenly, “I mean, yeah. You could say that. It’s been a while since I've been part of an orchestra though.” There must have been a look of confusion across her features, as Michael laughed a bit, “I don’t mean to pry, Calliope. You see, I've recently acquired an instrument of great value, and I've discovered that when people stand to gain from something, they tend to be less than honest. I decided to go through the files and see if there was anyone internally who might be able to help me, someone not close to the situation. Of course, I’d first need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement.” Now her interest was piqued. A smirk danced on her lips as she eyed him, getting the sense that this might be more interesting than she first thought.

“All right, Michael. I’ll bite. Long as it doesn't keep me from my work too long.” He chuckled a little and nodded, “I admire your dedication. This shouldn't take up too much time.” He slid over a piece of paper, a line at the bottom for her signature. The agreement looked fairly legitimate, mostly just stating that she was not to share any information, and were she to share what she witnessed today, she would not only lose her job but risk a lawsuit. She had a feeling Michael wouldn't gain much from her being sued, though the threat was enough. 

Taking a pen off his desk without much thought, she signed at the bottom, dating next to it and handing it over, “So what’s so secretive you need me to sign an NDA? Don’t think I've ever had to sign one of those before.” Michael smiled, his charm appearing more sincere friendliness than anything, putting Callie more at ease, “Nothing too fantastic. I suppose you may disagree, but that’s part of why I invited you up here. I understand you have quite the musical talent, and more than that, you have experience with violins.” Callie nodded her head simply, “Yeah, I worked with a teacher who specialized in different violin types. He taught me a lot about the ages of violins, how the sound resonates depending on the wood and string type. Picked up a lot of it.” 

Callie watched as Michael stood, turning to a large square case behind himself. His face was rather matter-of-fact as he opened it, withdrawing a deep brown violin. It looked aged, though not worn, and Callie’s eyes brightened. It was an exquisite piece, an involuntary gasp leaving her lips. Michael faced her, holding the piece along with the bow, looking a bit satisfied with himself, “Would you do me the honor of playing a piece for me, and giving me your professional opinion on the instrument?” Calliope stood, a sort of stunned, frozen look on her face as she reached out, hardly hesitating as she gently took it. The weight was a bit more than she was used to, the finish appearing as though it’d had better days, though the bridge and the entirety of the piece looking remarkable. She recalled seeing something similar in a book she’d read, one her teacher had given her, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

“Are you sure? This looks rather… old.” He held his hands in front of himself, then made a gesture for her to go on, “Please.” Looking at him a bit skeptically again, she adjusted herself, tucking the violin by her chin, placing her fingers on the strings, glad she had recently cut her nails as she had been playing at home. Holding the bow gently, she closed her eyes, beginning to play Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D Major, a piece she had grown to love.

The music flowed beautifully from the piece as she held it to herself as one might hold a lover, gently, carefully, and with a remarkable amount of grace. The sound came perfectly as she moved her fingers up and down, pressing against the strings, occasionally tilting her head. After a few minutes of playing, she finished, letting a sigh escape her lips as she smiled, pulling the piece away. Looking at it, it finally clicked. She remembered now the way the sound had come from the violin, the gorgeous tune it emitted that was unlike anything she had held before. She felt a sort of peace falling over her, care in her holding of the instrument, “Mr. Wind- I mean… Michael. This is a Stradivari… I can’t be 100% certain, but the sound, the feel, the look… it fits the marking of a Stradivari.” 

Michael reached out, Calliope gingerly handing it back as he placed it in the case, looking pleased, “I’m happy to hear that. I wanted to be sure before I finalized the rest of the deal I made, but you sound fairly certain.” Calliope was trying to register the fact that she had just given back a multi-million dollar violin, and had played it. She stared at her hands, “I can’t believe I just played a Stradivari. I've never held such a beautiful instrument in my life.” She smiled widely, Michael walking over towards her and placing a hand on her arm, “And you played it beautifully. This may be a tad personal, but might I ask what prompted you to stop performing? Such talent seems wasted in an office environment.” 

For a moment, she was quiet, contemplating how to phrase her response. Her smile became slightly more melancholy, looking away for a moment, “My mother got sick before I went to college. I’d been playing since I was little, and I adored it, but I wanted to stay close to home to be with my family. My brother joined the army before she got really sick, and my father couldn't handle the burden, so I went to school close to home and didn't pursue music. I minored in music studies, certainly, and did what I could in school, but once she passed away, I didn't really have a way to get back in. It’s hard, once you get older, if you don’t have connections.” She shrugged a bit, suddenly uncertain as to why she had given him such personal information. It seemed harmless enough, though. What was he going to do with it?

Michael withdrew his hand, “I’m sorry to hear about your mother, and your absence from music. But I appreciate you coming here and playing, and giving me your feedback. I feel confident in your assertion about the violin.” Calliope nodded,  
“Well, thanks for letting me play. It’s been a while since I've had a piece so well-tuned and well-built in my hands. Every piece has a personality… they’re all different. Like people.” Her face was bright now, Michael nodding, “It certainly sounds that way. Well, I shan't keep you from your work any longer, Calliope. I do appreciate your time.” He held his hand out, the expensive watch on his wrist glittering in the light that poured in. Callie took it, shaking it firmly, still feeling the rush of having played something so beautiful and rare. 

Withdrawing her hand, she adjusted her blouse once more, “And again, thank you.” He smiled and nodded, watching as the young woman left his office, carefully shutting the door behind herself. Looking down at the watch out of habit, despite the fact that it was to be turned in for repairs as it was no longer working, he found himself surprised as the second piece ticked away, the watch once more finding life within itself.


	4. Strange encounters

By the time the day had ended, Callie had found herself thrown entirely into her work, only realizing it once she glanced at the clock. The computer clock flashed “6:42” and she realized that she wasn't going to have a chance to run home and change. Feeling a pang of frustration, and knowing she was going to be slightly late, she saved her progress and hurriedly closed down the computer. Pulling out her phone, she found Evan’s number and quickly sent him a text: Gonna be a few minutes late. Sorry :(. Pressing ‘send’, Callie collected her things and grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder.

Most of the office had cleared out, as it typically emptied fairly early on a Friday, but Callie had wanted to get her work done. It was her style. However, her style was going to get in the way of her personal life, it seemed. Maybe that was part of her problem to begin with, in that she never really let herself have a personal life. Now was not the time for internal philosophical debates, however, and instead was the time for Callie to hurry through the hall and to the elevator, pressing the button multiple times, as if that would change things. 

Once in the garage, she fished her keys from her pocket, making her way to the small Camry parked toward the back. It was an older car, but one that had served her quite well through the years, a car that was stable and reliable. Now, tossing her things inside the car haphazardly, she remembered the joke about a woman’s car being a mess and her place being clean, and the opposite for men. Now, it was stupidly appropriate, feeling a bit self-conscious as she looked into her backseat, spare clothes and a water bottle sitting in the back with a first-aid kit. Calliope had learned to always be prepared in her time on the planet, especially with a brother who was allergic to coconut, of all things. Epi pens were helpful for just that reason.

The car started without much issue, Callie trying to be careful as she hurried through the garage, making her way down the street. By the time she had pulled into the parking lot of The Bell Tower, she noticed it was 7:01, grinning as she thought about the fact that she had made good time. Stepping out, she shivered, having left her jacket in the car, figuring she wouldn't need it as they were just going to be inside. Already the night had begun to settle, darkness overtaking the light, the one real downside of winter. Pushing back her blonde hair, she made her way inside the restaurant that doubled as a bar, already pulsing with people. The warmth that overtook her was pleasant, the wide space of the bar and restaurant appealing to her, looking around a bit before spotting Evan in a booth, looking down at his beer, a glass of wine across the table.

Smiling, she moved through people, Evan looking up as he noticed her coming closer, waving a bit before Callie threw down her things into the booth, smiling, “Hey! Sorry about being late, Mr. Windham called me into his office so I had to play catch-up.” Evan cocked an eyebrow, grinning at her a bit, “Did you get in trouble?” Callie laughed, shaking her head,  
“Would you believe me if I told you I had to sign an NDA? I’m legally not allowed to talk about it.” She smiled slyly at him, taking a sip of the wine across from her. It was a chardonnay, which she knew from her wine days in college, though Callie was not a wine fan. Regardless, she nodded, “Thanks for the wine.” Evan only nodded his head,  
“Thanks for saying yes.” Calliope’s face flushed slightly as he spoke, pushing back her hair as she grinned, “Joke’s on you, Evan. I’m secretly trying to gain access to my own personal IT guy. I break so much stuff, I figure I might as well get one for myself.” Evan laughed, taking a drink of his beer.

The rest of the evening was quite enjoyable, Callie had found, Evan finding himself talking more than he had before. It was nice to finally find someone to share with, someone beyond Joseph or his coworkers, someone who he could just sit and talk to. Callie told him about her brother, Shaun, her father, Eric, only briefly mentioning her mother Molly’s passing. She hated the looks of pity people gave her, whether or not they had meant it, and hated hearing people were sorry. People who didn't know her, who had never met her mother, apologizing for something they knew nothing about. But Evan had sensed that, given how briefly she had mentioned it, instead talking about his own family. 

As it turned out, Evan had an extensive family. Two sisters and a brother, his parents both living in Florida now, though not having retired. He talked about going to school, briefly mentioning his best friend who he saw regularly, Joseph Dunn. Callie mentioned her love of music and playing, and eventually, the two found themselves having talked for a few hours before Calliope felt herself growing tired. Two drinks wasn't enough to do much except make her tired, Evan casually mentioning that they should go out again sometime. Callie grinned, “I’m sure I’ll see you around anyway… You forget, I tend to need IT a lot.” Evan laughed, walking Callie out to her car, smiling as she kissed his cheek.


	5. Feared Returns

When Calliope woke the next morning, she found herself feeling oddly refreshed. Her Friday had been unusual, even for her, having held an incredibly rare violin, meeting up with a coworker for drinks, and now waking to find herself drawn to the violin in the corner of her room. Pushing back her comforter, immediately grabbing the blue UPenn sweatshirt by her bed, throwing it on quickly. She made her way across the room, clean and immaculate as her office, painted a warm yellow color. Picking up the black case, she set it gently on her bed, unclipping it and opening it up. The violin looked up at her, Callie reaching down and gently touching it, smiling as memories flooded in.

The smell of the piece was unmistakable, the smell of the velvet-lined case, the wood it was made from, the delicate strings. It all held valuable memories for Callie, and she swiftly picked up the piece. There was no sense of disappointment she expected after having handled such a fine piece previously, but rather, a sense of strength and need as she tucked it under her chin and began to play. The melody was entrancing, even for the woman playing it, her body relaxing as she let herself fall into what had become a natural routine. 

It had been an hour of playing before Calliope realized her fingers were starting to hurt, strained a bit from having been so long since she sat down and really played. Placing the instrument back in her case, a feeling of pride washed over, along with a strange feeling of satisfaction, like finally finishing a book. She attributed it to having been so long since she played, smiling as she sat with the case closed and on her bed, looking at the far wall. Glancing at the heavily-encased phone by her bed, she pondered giving Evan a call, though had decided against it. She had enjoyed spending time with him, certainly, but she hadn't felt the click in the same way that Evan had. She liked that they had a lot to talk about, and that he was thoughtful, but it wasn't what she wanted.

The thought gave her pause, snapping the case closed and placing it by her bed, reaching over and looking at the phone. The background was a picture of her mother from when she was younger, holding onto her brother as a baby. It was a picture she enjoyed, and one that she kept with her rather than put on her nightstand. Oddly, as connected as she was to her father and brother, and as she had been to her mother, her apartment was vacant of much of that. There were a few photographs hanging when one entered, but beyond that, she kept things quiet. Photo albums were hidden under her bed or in her closet, books of poems and songs hand written and scattered in books and papers around her apartment. 

In fact, the apartment itself had an almost old-fashioned look to it. Her walls were a soft beige color, ceramic tiles and floors in the kitchen, wooden floors along the apartment itself, a dark finish to them. Bookcases lined the walls, filled to the brim with items she had read and poured herself into. Even her own work was hidden amongst the titles on the walls. A few wooden desks were spotted throughout, one in her bedroom, one in the living room, and a wooden table in the dining room. The couch stood out, however, a deep blue color that matched the many blue accents within the room. Soft blue curtains, blue ceramic dishware, and a blue clock in the kitchen. An odd assortment, but she liked how it clashed well. 

It was then she heard the familiar ring of her cell phone glancing at the nightstand as she checked the screen. A puzzled look crossed her face as it vibrated, the words “Blocked Call” in white across the screen. She contemplated letting it go, and a part of her told her not to answer, the part that one feels in their gut, the part to always listen to. But Calliope did not, and instead pressed ‘Answer’, holding the phone to her ear, “Hello?” There was a pause as she listened, conscious of the fact that she was breathing heavier, forcing herself to relax as she waited, unsure as to why she was so scared. A voice responded, “Hello, Calliope. You know, you’re not an easy person to get a hold of.” The voice was deep, sounding a bit grizzled from age, hearing noise in the background but unable to decipher exactly what she was hearing beyond voices, “Who is this?” She felt nervous, shaking as she stared at her bed, never having gotten a call like this. But the voice spoke again, “Unlisted number, no social media… I suppose I was lucky to track you down, wouldn't you say?” 

Taking a breath, she found herself trying to muster up courage, “Who is this? How did you get my number?” There was a chuckle on the other end of the phone, as if amused by such a silly question, “Why not ask Mr. Joseph Dunn about that one? He’s the one who lead me to you, after all. I’m sure he’d be happy to answer that. Ask him about his father, David that may help get things moving. Help you find your place in the world.” There was a click, ending the call, leaving Calliope holding the phone to her ear.

What had just happened? Who was Joseph Dunn? Hell, who had just called her, for that matter? Pulling the phone away, she stared down at it, the lock screen now on. The sun poured into her room, lighting it warmly, a clash to the fear that was settling inside her. There had been something about the way the man spoke to her that chilled her, something that frightened her. She doubted it being a prank call, given there was really no one who would do that. And if it was, it didn't make any logical sense. 

Trying to shake off the feeling of unease that was filling her body, she unlocked her phone and opened the internet browser. Her own computer was on the fritz, at best, and so she did what she could to open Google, knowing well enough how to operate technology. It was true, she had ensured her online presence was at a minimum, but mostly because she avoided technology in her own spare time. She hadn't ever felt a need to put herself out for the world to see, and she often felt safer keeping to her small, comfortable world. 

Typing in the name “Joseph Dunn”, she realized that there would be a slew of results. It seemed like a common enough name, and so how to limit it? The man had noted she ask about his father, David. So she did a search with both names, and was a bit surprised at the top results that came up. She had remembered the train accident, years ago, remembering the story about a lone survivor, though the name hadn't stuck. Now, it showed up as “David Dunn”, noting he was the father to “Joseph Dunn” and husband. After a bit more research, looking up about Joseph, she was able to create a kind of trail, following to where he had gone to school, noting that he was still living in Philadelphia. A phone number came up, along with a LinkedIn page and a Facebook page, a few pictures of him littering the search results. 

A part of her wanted to simply call, but what would she say? A strange man told me about you and your dad? That might be weirder than the call she just got, and so she stayed focused on the page before her. Callie understood she would have to talk to this guy, but whether he was someone who would help her was unclear. He had apparently lead this stranger to her, so what if he was the one who had called her? What if he had asked someone to call her? Only more questions, and they were questions that could only be answered by dialing the number.

She bit her bottom lip, fighting with herself about it, watching as the screen dimmed, then went dark again, locking. Getting up, she noted clearing her head was the only real way to deal with the situation. She contemplated calling Caroline, but it was such a weird thing to ask a friend about. Maybe her brother? Shaun had always been fairly solid and grounded, especially about the weirder stuff in their lives. He lived in Colorado, however, which meant that he might still be asleep. Well, given his odd habits, there was a lot he could be doing. 

Instead, she began to get dressed, throwing on a pair of old, tattered blue jeans, keeping her sweatshirt on and tying her hair up. Walking into her living room, she took a seat at one of the old, oak desks, opening a drawer and withdrawing a moleskin notebook, worn from use, removing a pencil as well. Almost immediately, upon opening the book to the next usable page, she began to sketch. There was no real rhyme or reason to what she was drawing, mostly faces, eyes, hands… all parts of people. Everything she drew was normal, and soon enough, her mind began to fade away to nothing, seeing only parts and faces, finding solace in the fact that the world had blurred into nothing but parts and pieces. 

Between her time drawing, she had gotten up to make tea, letting her mind stay full of things that were irrelevant, pouring the hot water into a deep blue, ceramic mug, seeping the white tea. She seemed to be floating, if one were to see her from the outside, moving through the bright living room with ease, now holding a steaming cup of tea, no caffeine, wanting to keep herself calm and relaxed. After her mother had passed, Callie had learned ways to cope and keep herself from losing it. She’d often felt like she was teetering on the edge of sanity, worried that this would be what finally set her off. But she had been resilient, and even in the face of terror and sadness, Callie had found a place to go that felt safe, a place to keep herself at ease. Music had been her true love, of course, but drawing and writing had given her joy.

But it was then, after about two hours of sipping her tea and drawing that it clicked. She froze, staring at the drawing before her that looked to be the sketched portrait of a young man, her own age, shaggy blonde hair and soft features, that she realized why she’d been so shaken. Evan had told her that he was good friends with Joseph Dunn, and it had been the same Joseph Dunn that the man on the phone had talked about. Jesus, had Evan been the one to give out her number? 

A sudden fit of frustration filled her as she got up, moving into her room quickly, jumping to all sorts of conclusions in her head. She grabbed her phone, opening up the page with his number again and not hesitating, immediately pressing “Call this number” as she hit the page. She held the phone to her ear, one arm crossed angrily in front of her chest as she waited, and lips pursed, hearing the phone ring on the other end. After three rings, her anger rising with each, a sort of groggy voice answered, “Uh, yeah… hello?” Good. She’d woken him up. Maybe he’d be tired enough to let something slip, “Is this Joseph Dunn?” The man on the other end pushed back his blankets, Joseph clad in his boxers, shuddering as the cold hit him, rising to his feet and pushing back the shaggy blonde hair, “Who’s asking?” The woman on the other end sounded quite irritated, but he figured he’d bite, “Are you Joseph Dunn, friends with Evan?” Joseph looked confused as he stopped in the middle of his messy room, mattress sitting on the floor, unsure what was going on, “Yeah… again, who is this?” Calliope laughed a bit and shook her head, “Do you think this is funny? Did Evan put you up to that call?” At this point Joseph had grabbed a black sweatshirt and pulled it over his head, sitting down at his computer and booting it up, “Evan? Wait, do I think what is funny? Who the fuck is this?” 

Calliope scoffed, shaking her head, “The call I got a few hours ago. Some creepy dude called me and said that you’re the one who told him to call me. Evan’s one of the only people who has my number, and he told me he knew you. So I’ll ask again: Do you think it’s funny?” Joseph felt stunned, sitting down in the chair, mouth agape, having been woken sharply now, “Wait, are you Calliope?” He seemed unfazed by the fact that this woman had just named both him and his best friend and seemed quite livid. But Calliope stopped, realizing that he seemed legitimately surprised at the fact that she was calling him, “You’re not the one who had some guy call me?” Joseph rubbed his head again,  
“Seriously? I only know you because Evan talked about you… Why would I know your number? Last time Ev was here he didn't have it. How did you even get my number? Who told you to call me?” 

Now both parties were confused. Callie felt her body relax, sitting down on the perfectly-made bed, staring to the side, “Some guy called me… he said that you led him to me, or something. Said to ask about your dad… David, right? That’s what he said.” Joseph was silent now, feeling as though he’d been punched right in the gut. There were few people in this world who would know who Joseph was, certainly, and while they might remember David, it had been so long that it had become just a rumor. But to call out both Joseph and his father, a man mysteriously getting the number of a woman he had just been tipped off to? A woman he suspected of being different? There was only one person he knew would do that: Elijah.


End file.
